


'Tis Well to Be Bereft

by adspexi



Category: A Bit of Fry and Laurie
Genre: Canon-Typical Stilted Dialogue, Getting Together, M/M, Metaphors Involving Pastry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:33:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25613632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adspexi/pseuds/adspexi
Summary: Control looks rather vexed this morning. Tony is on the case.
Relationships: Control/Tony Murchison (A Bit of Fry and Laurie)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 17
Collections: Rare Male Slash Exchange 2020





	'Tis Well to Be Bereft

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ficwriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficwriter/gifts).



It was a day like any other as Tony walked into the office. Days, of course, varied quite a lot, so that one might look at a January sleet and an August scorcher and think one had gone on an exciting trip, when really one had barely moved at all, and as such it might be difficult to say that any one day was “like” another. But then, this was England, and it was grey and overcast, so. It was indeed like many other days, to Tony’s way of thinking. Rather high humidity. 

Control looked awfully preoccupied this morning, Tony thought. “Control, you look awfully preoccupied this morning,” Tony said. 

“Indeed I am, Tony,” said Control. “I am, indeed. D’you know, I think I might go so far as to say I’m vexed.” 

“That sounds a touch worse than preoccupied,” said Tony. 

“To be sure.” 

“Trouble with the missus?” Tony said. “Mrs Control has seemed a little stressed lately, what with the humidity. I thought a holiday might do her some good, but it seems she isn’t on one, is she, if you’re still at work.”

“Mrs Control is indeed on holiday," said Control.

"Jamaica?" 

"No, she went of her own accord. And you were correct, Tony, to postulate that I am not traveling myself. We are, you may see at the moment, separate.” 

“There is, then, a separation, one could say?” Tony asked. 

“Objectively a fair observation, that is.” 

“A separation it could be assumed you are… trying out.” 

“It is, after all, common wisdom to try before you buy, as the pantomime girl said to the rector.”

“Well, it seems a person might not want to buy the whole thing, then? If the experience of the trial, which ought to be pleasant, leaves one so vexed.”

“It’s not the trial that has me vexed, though, Tony,” Control said, looking a bit starched in the collar. Control always looked starched, and on the whole it suited him: the leader of rather an important agency ought to hold himself with gravity befitting of the position. But this was more an internal, spiritual starch. A starchiness of the soul, you could say, if you were a romantic, which Tony was not.

“Then what is it that does have you vexed, Control? If it doesn’t vex you more, my asking about it.” 

“What vexes me this morning, Tony, is that the separation which I’m trying out does _not_ have me vexed. I’d rather thought it would, you know, and planned to end it on the basis of that presumed vexation. To suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous snoring, knowing that being without that minor unpleasantness was itself unpleasant, as it were. And instead I find myself, well, _happy,_ this morning.”

“I’m glad to hear you’re happy, Control,” said Tony, “because if you hadn’t said it, and I had only assumed your emotional state from your face and general affect, I might have thought you were unsettled.”

“Oh, indeed I am, Tony, but the unsettlement springs from the happiness. It is not, to my good fortune, intrinsic.” 

“How is Mrs Control feeling about the whole thing? It would be quite unfortunate if one of you were happy and the other cross about it. I imagine such a feeling might be very unpleasant, and it's not very pleasant to draw unpleasant things out.” 

“From what I hear, she’s having a lovely time in Greece,” said Control. “She seems put out to have travelled all the way to Lesbos and not found any lesbians, and I did laugh at that, which perhaps wasn't fair of me, but then Elaine reminded me I would hardly have better luck on the Isle of Man.” 

“Pardon me?” Tony said, as he had not understood - well, hardly a word, to be honest. 

Control sighed. “I do think you might get your hearing checked, Tony,” he said. “What I said was, ‘From what I hear, she’s having a lovely time in Greece. She seems put out to have - ’” 

“If I may, may I interrupt you there, Control?”

“Well, it could be said that the action of asking a question while I’m in the midst of my sentence is itself an interruption, Tony,” said Control. “But as you were so kind to ask, you may.” 

“This is proving to be quite the educational conversation,” Tony said. “And you know, Control, I have to ask something in the spirit of learning. The problem, as it is, is this: I heard the words that you said, in the order that you said them, and I understand many of them individually. ‘Travel,’ for instance.” 

“Or ‘Greece,’” said Control, “which is an archipelago, rather than a lubricating substance.” 

“Greece, indeed. And of course, as anyone might, I understand ‘lesbian.’ But well, Control, I just can’t grasp the words you’ve said in the order you put them in.” 

“Well, you see, the missus and I came to a discovery recently. You know how tastes change as one leaves the realm of childhood for adulthood’s sombre shores.” 

“I used to consider myself lucky to sneak a Dairy Milk for breakfast, and now I imagine the prospect would leave me quite hangry, perhaps on the verge of a sugar crash.” 

Control smiled. “An excellent metaphor, which I would like to take for a jog. Suppose for a moment that a restaurant offers you two sorts of pudding. You can choose, we shall say, from either bananas and custard or spotted dick.” 

“What an odd sort of restaurant, to only have two puddings on offer.” 

“Oh, to be sure, Tony, there are as many sorts of pudding as there are grains of sand upon a beach, but my focus this morning is upon the two house specials, as it were. Suppose you enjoyed Bird’s custard in your youth, and you have no particular grudge against it now; it feels pleasant enough upon the tongue, and anyway you and your Bird’s have shared a lease for fourteen years. Only you and the Bird’s both know it doesn’t feel the way it should, and both of you are trying to wait out this rough patch but you feel more and more as if the rough patch is all there's ever going to be, and then one day your Bird’s comes home and says, ‘Dearest, we can’t hold each other back like this, I’m sailing to Greece with Elaine from the typing pool and I think it would be good for you to try something new yourself.’”

“Well, Control,” said Tony, “I would say the Bird's might have the right of it."

"Would you?" said Control.

"It seems to my way of thinking that the spotted dick is worth exploring. Perhaps with someone close to you, who is deemed trustworthy enough by a major world power to hold a significant security clearance.” 

“I had thought the same thing myself, Tony,” Control said.

“And if I might be so bold, Control - I expect it would go down nicely with a hot cup of coffee.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Enormous thanks to my britpicker, [ Popchop,](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Popchop/pseuds/Popchop) who contributed the Jamaica joke and reminded me that custard has to have something served with it.


End file.
